


The Shirt

by flashofthefuse



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-03
Updated: 2017-02-03
Packaged: 2018-09-21 19:13:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9562703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flashofthefuse/pseuds/flashofthefuse
Summary: For February PFF.  After a night together, Phryne dons Jack's dress shirt.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally part of my ongoing modern AU fic, but it didn't really fit. I decided to adapt it for PFF because someone told me that practice is helpful - looking at you Sarahtoo!

Breakfast never really got off the ground. She’s barely set the kettle on before he has her pinned against the table.

She knew when she put his shirt on that he would find it alluring. She hadn’t imagined such a speedy reaction, but she doesn’t intend to complain. She tugs at his singlet, making him pause in his work to undue her buttons. He grunts in annoyance and hastily pulls it over his head, tossing it aside to return to his own, apparently more important, efforts.

She laughs.

“It’s not funny, Phryne,” he says, (his own laugh says otherwise). He pushes the shirt off her shoulders, lunging at her neck. “You drive me mad.”

She leans back, resting on her hands and offering her breasts up to his mouth. His hands hold her firmly around her back, but it isn’t long before one of them finds its way between her thighs, which she gladly spreads.

She is a little sore from their lovemaking the night before, but this doesn’t keep her from wanting him inside her. The table is a perfect height, which had been precisely her reason for tempting him this way.

Just to make her intentions perfectly clear, she pushes his smalls down over his hips and wraps her hands around his stiffening cock, stroking him gently until he is long and hard.

She guides him to her, wincing slightly as he moves against her tender flesh.

“Am I hurting you,” he asks, pausing in his forward motion.

“No,” she sighs, lying back on the table, “I want this, Jack. Just be gentle.”

He moves slowly, pushing in gingerly, then pulling almost all the way out. Repeating the motion over and over. Long, smooth strokes. His hands hold her hips tight in place. His head lolls back, his eyes close and the look on his face is one of utter bliss.

“You’re so beautiful, Jack,” she says, reaching her hands out to stroke his hips each time he draws near. “I love you. I love you so much.”

His eyes meet hers, wide and astonished. She smiles, nodding to answer the question in his eyes. He exhales a shaky breath.

Of all the times and places for her to say it. Not while he’s worshiping her in bed, or after, as they lie in each other’s arms.

Not in response to the first time he says it, or the many times after that first time, because it keeps slipping out almost unbidden, but now, when he’s completely lost control and is fucking her on his kitchen table. He almost wants to laugh, but other sensations take precedent.

His hips stutter and she knows he is finding it increasingly hard to maintain control.

“Phryne, I can’t—I need to—”

“It’s alright. You won’t hurt me,” she says. Any pain she’d initially felt has given way to pleasure and she wants more. She grips the edge of the table and pulls herself closer to him, wrapping her legs around his back

Once he has a firm grip on her, she brings her hand between them to spur herself along as he increases his pace and intensity.

Jack watches from above as Phryne starts to come undone. Her hair is spread out on the table, framing her lovely face. Her eyes are shut, her mouth forms into a silent ‘O’ and she has never looked more beautiful.

The sound of the table skittering across the floor mingles with the grunts and moans of their pleasure. The tea kettle on the stove behind them comes to a boil, whistling loudly to accompany Phryne’s keening wail. He spills inside her, crying her name.

Jack collapses back into a chair, pulling her with him onto his lap where she curls up in a ball against him. He reaches behind him to pull the screaming kettle off the burner, then wraps his arms around her, burying his nose in her hair.

“I’ll never get enough of you, Phryne Fisher,” he says, “and I will love you until the end of my days.”

“I like the sound of that, Jack,” she says.

“Do you?” he asks, smiling shyly.

“Yes. But, let’s make that end ages and ages down the road, can we?”

“As you wish.”


End file.
